Rise (War Witch Book 1) (13 page)

"Dunnick, eh?" Diem said softly, smiling at the cigar for a moment. "Seems like a place that's a world away."

"Well, it is," Talbor grinned. "Other side of the world, actually."

"I suppose it is," he chuckled. "Thank you, my friend."

Talbor waved it off. "It's just a cigar, old boy."

"Not for that," came the former soldier's reply. "For earlier, for Chara."

"Ah, yes," the Ascended sighed. "That's actually what I wanted to talk with you about, but in a moment. There's something else a little more pressing I need to discuss with you."

Seeing the serious look that settled over the normally comical demigod’s face, Diem felt a twinge of fear. "Something bad, isn't it?"

Talbor shrugged a little. "Yes and no. Well, it would be if I wasn't warning you about it, but after I warn you about it, you're going to have a really bright idea that will make it not be."

Diem frowned. "I'm not really sure what you just said."

"Neither am I," Talbor grinned. "But I will be shortly."

"Come again?"

"You do know the Divine Gift Ramor gives his Blessed, right?" the Ascended asked.

Diem thought about it for a moment. "I know it makes them fierce in battle, almost unbeatable."

"Yes, it does," Talbor nodded. "It allows them to sense, or I guess you could say see, what is about to happen during a battle. Quite a nice Gift to give a warrior, really. We Ascended of Ramor can sort of do it too, on a larger scale. We sort of just know what is going to happen before it does. It's a bit tricky, though, since it can be something hours away."

"I'm not sure I follow," Diem admitted.

Talbor waved that away. "Don't worry over it. You will soon enough. Point is, when I arrived here, I sensed it. Demon Seed are coming. They should be here by morning."

"What?" Diem exclaimed as he leapt up. "What kind? How many?"

Talbor rolled the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, pondering that. "I'm not sure."

Panicked, Diem paced a little, saying, "I need to alert the guard in Adel… But no, that's three days away. Maybe we should evacuate the village, which would take all night. I'm not sure hiding everyone would work, though."

"You could try fighting them," Talbor offered. "But I'm an Ascended of Ramor. That's my answer to everything."

Diem gave him a frightened look. "Fight them? We're farmers. Craftsmen. We don't know how to fight. We barely even have anything that would pass for weapons in this town."

"Is that so?" the demigod asked, looking up at him, calm and relaxed.

"Well, except for bows," Diem said. "I mean, pretty much everyone in town has a bow for hunting, but..."

Talbor smiled as Diem had a bright idea. "There we are. Now, about your wife."

"Never mind her," Diem snapped. "I've got to get people roused and ready. We need a plan."

"Yes, yes, but that can wait five minutes," Talbor said, puffing on his cigar. "The Demon Seed won't be here till a bit after dawn. Never mind them for right now."

Diem shook his head, growing even more agitated. "We're facing an attack from Demon Seed, Talbor! There's no time to worry over something that's already dealt with!"

"I'm not so sure it's dealt with, though," the demigod sighed. "Little Sister will be leaving soon, probably the day after the fight. We need to be thinking on your darling wife deciding that with her out of the way and me as well, she can force the issue of Chara's marriage once again."

"She'll be here for the battle," Diem pondered. "That could be our ace in this."

Talbor scowled, his cigar dangling. "I think you missed what I just said."

"I'm sorry, but I can't be thinking on that," the old man told him. "I'll deal with it should it come up again."

With a heavy sigh, Talbor realized he should’ve started with his concerns over Kate, rather than the Demon Seed. "Well, should it come up, just give a prayer to Ramor, and I'll come give a hand again."

"Certainly," Diem nodded, only half listening. "Excuse me; I have to go start waking people up. Maybe I should start with Ramora, though."

The demigod couldn't help but smile at how easily he used the name his daughter had given the Blessed. "I'll give her the head’s up. You just rally the villagers, old boy. Off you go."

With a nod, Diem fled, hobbling down the street as fast as his knee would allow. Talbor heaved another sigh, wishing the fellow had at least finished his cigar first. They really were very nice, after all.

"I feel you back there," he said as he tapped the ash.

The lurking figure shed the field of invisibility it had cloaked itself in. "I should expect no less from one of my wolf brothers."

Talbor frowned slightly, knowing the voice of his fellow Ascended far too well. "What brings you out here, Rakiss?"

The other Ascended paced the porch, leaning on the rail to look out over the sleeping village. "What a dismal and dull place this is. However can you stand it?"

Talbor's frown deepened. "I find it peaceful. The question remains: why are you here?"

"I have a request for you, Talbor," Rakiss told him, sniffing the air with a bit of disdain. "One I advise you to agree to."

The demigod didn't like the sound of that, but remained where he was sitting, staring at the other through the softly rising smoke of his cigar. "If you want something, I'm not sure it would be wise for me to even hear it, much less agree with it."

"Regardless, you will aid me," Rakiss replied darkly. "Or I will tell Grannax that you meddled in the affairs of mortals."

"I made a suggestion, nothing more," Talbor told him, voice calm and neutral. "Nothing in the laws says I can't offer suggestions."

Rakiss chuckled at that. "Perhaps so, but think of your Blessed. She would be, at the very least, weeks without you while the Great Father looked into the matter. Be a pity if something awful happened to her in that time."

"Like what happened to yours, you mean?" Talbor countered, pushing down the urge to knock the smug out of the other Ascended.

Rakiss spun on him, hissing, "How dare you?"

"Threaten Little Sister, and I will dare." Talbor shrugged without a hint of agitation. "I'm sure Emiline would agree, were she not dead."

Snarling, Rakiss struggled to control his temper. "I wasn't threatening. I was simply making a point."

"No, you were threatening," Talbor snorted. "Now, what is it you want? I'm growing tired of your presence."

Eying his fellow with open contempt, Rakiss calmed himself, saying, "Little Sister will be leaving this odious little bump in the road soon. Make sure the innkeeper’s daughter goes with her."

"Chara?" Talbor asked with surprise. "Whatever for?"

"Never mind that," the other snapped. "It's no concern of yours."

Talbor rose, pitching the remains of his cigar out into the street. "What possible reason could you have for wanting sweet little Chara to leave here? Is this to do with those Chosen Ones I keep hearing rumor of?"

"Keep your nose out of my Mistress's affairs, wolf," Rakiss growled. "This request comes not from me, but from her."

Talbor stepped back a bit, startled. "Is that so?"

"It is," Rakiss smirked. "Now, all you have to do is..."

"I already know what to do," Talbor cut him off with a bark. "It remains a question of if I
want
to."

Rakiss gave him a condescending look. "What you want is irrelevant. Make certain the girl leaves here with your Blessed. That's all. My Mistress will be pleased, and you know what that means."

Talbor said nothing as Rakiss departed, swirling out of existence in a sparkle of lights. He knew what it meant; he just wasn't certain he liked where this was going.

Looking back at the inn, he wondered just what Ramor had dropped Little Sister in the middle of, and why.

The warrior sat on the foot of her bed, wiping her eyes. The tears on her cheeks made her angry, at herself, at the pain that brought them, at the man who had taken everything, and the people who so much wanted to give it back, but could not. The past was dead, and no amount of love could revive it.

Her Avatar cooed in her mind, offering all the love it had to her. She thanked it, cradling the spirit close to her heart, where it sang to her, trying to still her tears so desperately it made them come even harder.

She rolled the name Chara had so easily spoken through her mind, testing it, trying to see herself carrying it. It was beautiful, and she knew it. Fitting beyond any she’d ever heard. But it wasn’t her real name.

She had wanted so badly to stand and tell them her name, but her legs had gone weak and she knew even if they hadn’t, her rebellious tongue would never have made the words. It had lain dormant in her mouth for ten years now, refusing to form even so much as a simple sound.

Anguished at her sorrow, her Avatar sang her name to her, wanting nothing more than to bring a smile to her face. Always it sought to help ease the ache in her soul, but for the warrior, it brought back only more painful memories, the sound of the spirit’s voice too much like that of her mother.

Tears welled again as she thought of her. Soft platinum hair that had smelled of lilacs, a smile that had been, in her child’s eyes, warmer than the sun. Eyes so blue they had been more beautiful than the ocean. In her mind, she could still see her as if it had been only yesterday.

As always, the images were overwritten, against her will, by those of her mother after the Demon Seed had come. A burned corpse, flesh charred, hair scorched away, eyes reduced to liquid mass that would never see again. Her lips had been burned away, leaving her blackened teeth exposed, never again able to say her name any more than the warrior could.

The memory brought painful tears back into her eyes, angering her at her own inability to hold them back. Ten years of nightmares, struggling with the pain, seeking some means by which to cope with the agony that burned in her breast, all wiped away by the single still image held so forcibly in her mind.

Sharing her pain, her Avatar warbled its sorrow, pulling the melodies of better memories to her mind, trying to stem the tide of grief and loneliness. Songs of playing with her sister, teasing her little brother, they only hurt more, and with an agonized twitter, the little Rabbit that shared her soul sought to hold her close, mourning with her.

Lost in her memories, in her private hell she could not even speak of to another, the warrior missed the soft sound of her door opening. When she finally gave up control and let the tears fall, sobbing silently, she was unaware of being watched.

Chara stepped into the room quietly, hand clutched to her breast, watching the valiant warrior and priestess mutely cry. Tears filled her own eyes at the thought she had brought this pain, compelling her to seek amends.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, touching her hand tentatively to the warrior’s shoulder.

The warrior didn’t jerk back. In many ways, she was unsurprised to find the young woman standing there now. Part of her, she suspected, had expected to find this gentle, yet fierce, soul here with her at this moment. Hero worship, maybe, or just her simple sense of duty to someone she no doubt felt she’d wronged.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Chara assured, the tears that had only threatened before slipping from her own eyes now.

The warrior reached up to grasp her hand, squeezing softly. She wanted to assure her it was not her doing, but couldn’t. Instead, she held her hand and despite the tears and pain, gave her a warm smile.

Chara sat on the bed next to the warrior, studying her closely. “You must miss them all terribly. Your family, I mean. I can't imagine what you've been through.”

The warrior nodded slowly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Such pain wasn’t meant for others, for the kind and gentle, for their lives from then on were nothing but an echo of that moment.

“I’m sorry if I insulted you with the whole naming thing. I just wanted to have something to call you, for everyone to call you, that is fitting,” the younger woman said softly, holding the warrior’s hand in her own, amazed at the warmth and tenderness of her touch.

A warrior in heart, but a Cleric in spirit, the Blessed shook her head and smiled again, tucking Chara's hair behind her ears and out of her face. She nodded slowly, hoping she would understand she wasn’t offended, and had liked the name in fact. By the slow smile that spread over Chara’s tear-streaked face, the warrior saw she did understand.

Uncertain what else to say, or do, Chara slipped her arm around the warrior’s shoulders and pulled her close. Priestess or not, she was in pain and rested her head on the young woman’s shoulder. Ten years of sadness poured forth from her in a moment of mournful tears and silent, wracking sobs, as Chara held her and stroked her hair.

They stayed like that as night advanced, the young woman holding the warrior, letting her vent her sorrows on her chest. Rocking gently, Chara soothed the broken heart of the woman she revered, realizing that she was like her, a soul yearning for something she might never find.

When her tears finally eased, Chara rose, taking her by the hand. “Come. A bath will help. It always does. I'll wash your hair."